One Night in Arendelle
by zlot
Summary: Epic poem. One shot. "A traveler stood at Southern gates and said his last farewell."


"Frozen" is made and owned by Disney.

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With summer cut by winter past, the wanderer came north.

Blaise of name and brazed, to Arendelle he soon came forth.

He stopped and saw its walls of black, a stone that bore no mark.

In all its time, it'd seen no fight, no war to mar its form.

This he knew from black stone back where he had first come from.

And so he crossed the iron gates past the kingdom's one thing dark.

The wanderer from southern lands had hair of auburn shade.

Adorned below with farmers' clothes and a ring he'd often dropped.

A garnet stone that held unscathed in all his careless flops.

Tattered was his cloak of old, unlike his worn out shirt.

The one he kept, the other got with like from men in dirt.

A 'W' on his finger which near he always wore,

Had changed the meaning it once had told to the newest name he bore.

And the auburn head he kept in trim to always seem ablaze.

The city streets were busy with people everywhere.

The crowd stretched long from brick and oak to white sand by the shore.

A market fair more fair to bear than he'd seen heretofore.

The clinking sound of silver coins was all the money he had.

But here he'd see that money was a lesser thing in mind,

Than barters done one good for good, a trade of things in kind.

Of those, he lacked, as motion bade, which only now turned bad.

Food he could get somewhere else, food, and water, too.

There wasn't much he needed but to what he wanted to do.

And what he wanted was just as bare, as bare and plain to see,

As distance from home kept pushing him forth, seeking someplace far to be.

And really, distance was all he wanted, the one thing he sought there.

He talked with people all the same, and knew no one more warm.

And soon he saw his silver drain as gifts of nothing born.

His voice was all he needed here, as they were happy to help.

And Blaise had one pride left in him, but here no arrogant yelp.

Humility had its deeper roots, grown long before he left.

It started at home, perhaps from birth, that was always there to blame.

His early life where he'd learned to be used, was always a thing to frame.

And so he left it all behind, ever feeling himself deft.

Still, a fish he got for free from a worker at the docks.

Boundless generosity was here the smallest shock.

Wrapped in brown he got it with a heavy scent of salt.

Which was just as well, he thought to himself, for he expected nothing at all.

At the pier he took a seat with a most precarious balance.

Staring out at ocean blue and a white typical of a fjord.

Even in summer there was ice up north, simply a matter of course.

Less common than that, unique in his mind, was a young girl coming gallant.

He'd only known once so long ago, and it pained to let her go.

But he'd not left her, not as such, with any love left to sow.

So seeing another with spirit so high and hair almost as red as his,

Blaise knew what was past was done and could not happen again.

But it didn't mean that he should treat this new one with disdain.

Simply that they keep as friends if such be what it is.

She tripped and fell and Blaise, of course, sprung back as far he could,

To catch her as her arms went down as though as such they should.

Her face was dusted with freckles, and Anna was her name.

Princess of the realm and sister of the queen, but a klutz just the same.

Something about it resonated with him, and something about him with her.

It was his appearance, she thought and said she'd seen its like before.

He shrugged it off and said that it shouldn't be too strange.

But Anna insisted that no two people had ever looked more alike,

Than Blaise and this other person he last knew as a tyke.

And that was what he took to be what sparked off this exchange.

She spoke of coronation day, and barely a month had passed.

A knightly man standing tall and fair into whom she smashed.

Hans, she told him, was the one whose horse then saw him sunk.

And to his credit, though he grinned, Blaise didn't think to laugh.

Thoughts like that were gone with his pride, struck out by a wooden staff.

But he asked further about this man Hans, and guessed his age up front.

The story itself, Anna was reluctant to tell to him in full.

But she did say that the fire she saw was naught but wind and cold.

Anna would say what came before, and she'd say what then came out.

Love for fools turned towards more true, but aside her mouth was shut.

She then asked him for his tale, and Blaise was eager to share.

He noted that being so open it might not be able to compare.

He started sometime after start, after he had left home.

Rafts until he found a coast, and walking ever since,

He never strayed far from water in case he ever need rinse.

And always moving place to place, he never made one trip twice.

Whatever help he needed he got in one day and one night.

Mostly farms he said he saw, each one synchronized.

At each he'd learn the work of the day, but never reach any prize.

Years he wandered around like this, years and years on end.

He told Anna he must have seen two thousand farming hands.

Those hands had taught him how to sow, and break and reap and plow.

But the set of skills he'd use forever wouldn't settle him down.

Of all those things he learned he never did truly reap.

The window for that was far too thin, and timing wondrously steep.

But for her stop, he'd have told the rest of the places he roamed.

But Hans was no farmer, Anna then said with image new.

She didn't know exactly why, but she thought he needn't be too.

She said that he looked much like Hans, but couldn't quite rest her mind.

And every time she'd called him blind if he said otherwise.

He asked how well she knew the prince, wanting to know his case.

And Anna said she'd seen his face 'neath masks he wore and erased.

They were betrothed, she said after a long and awkward pause.

She thought they were. Eloped was the word she didn't want to give cause.

Betrothed and broken off so soon. Blaise wondered what went wrong.

Anna then told the middle tale, a tale of ice and snow.

That started in playful winter, with ruinous end in tow.

How coronation day they met and fell in love at once.

And just on that night he proposed, that lovable roguish runt.

The marriage they thought far too sure until the queen held sway.

Elsa said they couldn't join, she kept Prince Hans at bay.

Soon after this, she softly said, off came the queen's left glove.

And after that the icicles, push finally came to shove.

A summer storm would break out next; the fjord had frozen over.

A summer storm of sleet and cold, the storm of Elsa's power.

In blizzard state, Anna gave chase up to the mountain grim.

Of Hans, she spoke no further but that her rule she left him.

And this, thought Blaise, was how he went from love to rule to pride.

And Anna told when next they met she was about to die.

One kiss was all she thought it'd take her frozen heart to thaw.

Instead he glared, put out the hearth he'd conquer wherewithal.

She saw him on the frozen sea, sword drawn and set to strike.

Betwixt she ran, him and the queen, and there she turned to ice.

What came next was through Elsa's eyes: the sword was finely shattered.

The cold world thawed and Anna returned, worn but not too battered.

Then Hans was set to return home south, to await his trial by brothers.

So love would thaw a crown or life by one way or another.

Now this, Anna then heaved at last, was to end her darkish song.

Not long they sat in silence, not wanting to make light,

Of something that so tragic could have been such as their plight.

But Blaise was drawn to magic and asked how Elsa's was.

And Anna said it still was rare, but didn't know what because.

He asked to show her something; Anna was all eyes and ears.

He showed her flame and will to flaunt her sister's greatest fears.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that prince of Westergard.

And they laughed and talked all evening, which was totally bizarre.

That should have been his only rest, just one night in Arendelle.

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AN: Yeah, with a name like "Blaise," there was really only one way to take him... So what do you think? Is a followup necessary after those last few lines? I'm up to try another epic poem.


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